Homecoming
by Chaimera
Summary: AU Future!fic. It was a clear, cold day in Bristol when John Mitchell walked down Windsor Terrace and little had changed on the quiet road. Epilogue/Alt Ending now up.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** Being Human and all its associated characters are owned by the BBC. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit fun.

**Authors Note: **Ahh, my first foray into Being Human fan fiction. I love when a new fandom gets me all inspired. Anyway, this is an AU Future!fic, set roughly fifty years in the future. I'm not sure about how it turned out, so please, review and tell me what you think.

I have no beta, so any spelling or grammar mistakes are mine alone. If you notice anything, please tell me and I'll fix it.

**_Homecoming_**

_**By Chaimera**_

_"It is dismal coming home, when there is nobody to welcome one."_

_-Ann Radcliffe_

It was a clear, cold day in Bristol when John Mitchell walked down Windsor Terrace and little had changed on the quiet road. The houses looked a little more worn, but were still well kept by their residents. There were few differences that pointed to the time that had passed since the vampire had last stepped foot on the street. Cars were sleeker, fancier technology could be glimpsed through open curtains and gaps in blinds. The world had changed, but on this little street in Bristol, you could hardly tell. John Mitchell had left over fifty years ago; run away with the woman he had thought would be his salvation. He was wrong.

He stopped in front of the little pink house. Taking off his sunglasses, he had to squint against the harsh winter sun as he examined his former home. The windows were boarded up, there was graffiti all over the walls and there was more than one place where chunks of plaster had come away, exposing the brick work underneath. He sighed heavily as he gazed at it. It looked so sad, nothing at all like the sanctuary he had come to think of it as for the few years he had lived there with his friends. In truth, this corner house was the only place, other than where he had grown up in Ireland, that had ever really felt like home to Mitchell. He turned the small metal key over and over in his hand, staring at the door. The paint was nearly all but gone, some small, peeling patches of the colour it had been years ago remaining. He didn't know how long he'd been standing there when someone touched his shoulder.

"You all right mate?"

Mitchell turned to see a middle-aged man with receding brown hair frowning at him. "Huh?"

"I said, you all right? You've been standin' here for ages."

"Oh, yeah. I'm fine. Do… do you know who owns this place now?"

The man shrugged and looked up at the house himself. "No idea. Some developer. Wanted to knock it down but it's listed or somethin'. No ones lived there for years, least no one I've ever seen and I've been here twenty years." He chuckled to himself. "The kids round here say it's haunted. Load of 'ol bollocks if you ask me."

He glanced at Mitchell, who had returned his gaze to the faded front door. "If you're looking to buy, there's a place around the corner for sale."

"What? Oh… No, I lived here, a long time ago."

The man cocked an eyebrow. "What? Here?" He gestured to the house. "You can't be more than twenty five or so. You must've been young when you left."

The younger looking man gave a small smile, barely an upward quirk of his lips. "S'pose you could say that. It's got some good memories though."

The man sent him a confused look and then turned away. "Right so, I better get back."

Mitchell didn't look away from the house as he left. "Yeah. Thanks."

"I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for."

He glanced at the silver key in his hand. "Me too."

Mitchell glanced both ways, to make sure no one was around before stepping forwards and putting the key in the lock. To his surprise, it turned, though not with out a little effort and door swung open with a creak. Somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that everything about the little pink house on the corner now screamed haunted. He hoped it still was.

Stepping in side was a sobering moment. The place was completely empty and covered in a thick layer of dust. He pushed the door shut behind him and stood in the hallway. Small shafts of sun shone through some of the boards over the windows, highlighting the dust that hung in the air. This house was completely and utterly empty. He ran his hands through his hair and glanced into the living room. There was one battered chair in the corner, which looked as if it would collapse if anyone sat on it. Beside it, a pile of newspapers, yellowed and curled with age. Those too, looked as if the slightest breeze would cause them to disintegrate. He shuffled into the kitchen, causing clouds of dust to rise around his feet. There was a shattered mug in the sink and in the wall by where the table used to be, there was a gigantic hole, as if something had been thrown into it with force. The back door was nailed shut. Out of curiosity, he turned the tap on and almost smiled when the pipes groaned, the tap spat out some brown sludge and then died.

Suddenly, Mitchell spun around and shot up the stairs, ignoring the ominous creaking from the boards below his feet. He flung open the door to Annies' room with such force that it hit the wall, the impact dislodging some plaster from the ceiling, which fell the floor, creating an even greater cloud. When the dust had settled and he had stopped spluttering, the vampire surveyed the room with a sinking heart. Like everywhere else, it was empty. Nothing remained, not even the cream carpet, which had been pulled up, leaving only bare floorboards. Most of the wallpaper had peeled away. He slumped against the door frame and closed his eyes. He knew it had been foolish to hope, but then, he always had been good a believing in something futile. When he opened his eyes again he noticed something he hadn't before. In the plaster of the wall, underneath the boarded up window, someone had carved something. As he got closer, he saw it clearly. The letters J.M, G.S and A.S, where neatly carved, each set below the other. Mitchell didn't realise until his knees hit the floor that he'd fallen. He ran his gloved hand over the carving and wondered how long ago it had been done. Even back then, Mitchell knew he shouldn't have left, but even so, he had thought that even after so long, she would still…

He ran his hands over his face and sat back on his heels, only absently noting that his face was damp. So caught up in regret as he sat there, it was only after a minute or so that Mitchell registered the sound made when he sat back. Wood knocking against wood. He looked down and ran his hands along the floorboards under the window. One was loose. He pulled it up and stared. Placed neatly in the gap between the piping and the wall, was a shoe box, the design on the top long since faded. He grabbed in and pulled it out, sliding across the floor to sit against the wall, he whipped the lid off impatiently. Inside were a few objects he never thought he'd see again. He couldn't help but raise an eyebrow when he saw a pair of his sunglasses tucked into a corner. He had wondered where those had gone so long ago. The box also contained Annies' favourite mug, a piece of paper containing a god awful poem written by George, a picture of the three of them. Well, a picture of George and two floating mugs. He remembered how Annie had giggled over it when it came back from the developers. The box also contained one scratched DVD of Casablanca and a dog eared copy of Pride and Prejudice, the edition with Colin Firth on the cover.

Mitchell couldn't stop the guilt washing over him as he let his head fall back against the wall with an audible thunk. This is what he'd left one of his best friends behind with. Nothing. Nothing but a few items, a few scraps of memory hidden away in a box in the floor and an empty house with boarded up windows. He growled and drove his fist into the floor, relishing the pain as a distraction. He had run away all those years ago, like the coward he always knew he was. Lucy had not been his salvation. There had been more pain, more despair, more blood. And then he had run again. All his life he had run and even when he'd found people who had accepted and supported him, even when he fucked up royally, he still ran.

It was dark when Mitchell finally decided to move again. He grabbed the box and was about to put it away when something dislodged from the lid and fluttered to the floor. A piece of A4 paper, folded neatly in half with written across the front in familiar loopy writing. In his haste to unfold the paper he nearly ripped it.

_Dear Mitchell, _

_If you're reading this then you've come back. But I'm gone, because if I was still there I probably wouldn't let you in the house. And I defiantly wouldn't let you find this letter. It's been years, so I doubt you'll ever come back, but I thought I'd write this just in case and…_

There were several sentences crossed out but Mitchell could just about make out one of Annies' tangents through the messy lines.

_Anyway, George left a year after you did. Said he needed to start somewhere new again. I hope you two found each other again. He was useless without you and I doubt you're much better. _

_I don't know where I'll be when you read this. Some people keep trying to exorcise me so maybe… poof. Or maybe I went through my door. I dunno. I'm a ghost, not a fortune teller. _

Mitchell made a choked sound that was half laugh, half sob. He couldn't bear the thought that she had been exorcised, it made his chest ache. The words on the page made him laugh though, and he could almost hear her voice snapping at him from another room, feel her frustration as she scribbled out more random sentences.

_So, I hope you have a good life with Lucy. Even if you never read this, please, don't forget me._

_Love, always, _

_Annie. _

Mitchell stood quickly, wiping at his face. He stuffed the letter and the photograph in his pocket, putting the rest back in the box, storing it safely under the floorboard before striding out of the room.

In the dead of night, in Bristol, in a little pink house that hadn't seen a soul for nearly fifty years, an ageless, Irish vampire sat on the third step up on the stairs, staring at a cracked tile in the middle of the floor and realised that this time around, he really didn't have anything left.

_**Please Read:**__ Ok, so here's the thing. I'm a sucker for a happy ending and there is one written. If you'd like to see it posted as an alternate ending, review. If you think it should stay as it is tell me that too. Feed the author!_


	2. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:** Being Human and all its associated characters are owned by the BBC. I'm just borrowing them for some non-profit fun.

**Authors Note: **Ok, so here is the Epilogue/Alternative Happy Ending to this story. If you thought the first bit was fine the way it was, don't read on. If you are a happy ending junkie like myself, this is the place for you. I think I may have made it a bit to fluff at the very end, but you guys tell me. Reviews are textual love!

Also, I realized after the fact, that this is the 50th story I have posted her, so... Yay.

Enjoy and thanks to all of you who reviewed the first chapter.

_**Homecoming**_

_**By Chaimera**_

_**Epilogue **_

John Mitchell sat on the third step up on the stairs, in the home he had fled from years ago and stared at the cracked white tile in the middle of the hallway floor. There was nothing left for him here. There was nothing for him anywhere. Over the years, the vampire community had grown tired of his repeated attempts (and lapses) to get off blood. He was person non grata, forgotten by his own kind. He could rarely decide if he was happy about it or not, but either way, he was left with nothing. And now, with Annie gone, he was sure he had nothing left in the world. He sighed heavily to himself, lifting his head up and glancing at his watch. It was three in the morning. He knew he should leave, but he couldn't summon the energy to move. He was about to rise when a shout from the living room made him jump. He frowned, instantly on guard. He had been sitting there for hours; he would have seen someone enter. He would have heard them.

"Oi, wait. You have to help me." The voice was young, male and had a slight Scottish lilt. "I need your help."

If Mitchell's heart was still beating the voice that answered would have caused it to stop.

"Look, you've found your unfinished business. You have to sort that out yourself. I can't help you with that."

"But Sykes said you would…"

"Oh, Sykes did, did he? Well, you tell him…"

Mitchell had inched down to the bottom step silently and was now peering around the corner, into the living room. She stood with her back to him, gesturing wildly as she told the young man some creative uses for crockery that he could suggest to Sykes. He couldn't help but smile as he watched her rant. Before he realised he had walked out into nearly full view, the young ghost saw him. Scowling, the other ghost stepped forward.

"Hey, I was here first. Get lost."

She tensed and spun around, violet eyes flashing, ready for whomever or whatever was behind her. When she saw who exactly was standing in her hallway her face fell.

"Annie." Her name was like a prayer on Mitchell's lips. And then he was flying backwards, slamming into the kitchen wall. He fell to the floor in heap, the breath knocked out of him. As he attempted to gather himself he could hear Annie shouting.

"Out!"

"But, I need your help and who the hell is he anyway? I was here first!"

Annie's voice was quieter this time, more controlled, and Mitchell recognised it as the voice she used when she was furious.

"Listen, I can't help you. Now, get. Out."

Everything was quiet then, Mitchell's breathing the only sound. He stood, slowly and walked towards the kitchen entryway. Annie stood in the space between the hallway and the living room, her chest heaving, her hair being blown about in a breeze he couldn't feel. When she looked at him, her stare was icy.

"What do you want?"

He frowned. This was not the loving, bubbly girl he had left behind all those years ago. But then, who knew better than he did, that existing unchanging, in an ever changing world can alter a person drastically.

"I thought you were gone." He stepped forward, unable to stand the distance between them. She raised a hand, her eyes flashing again, this time holding a warning. He put up his gloved hands as a sign of peace.

He tried again. "I found you letter, upstairs and… Christ, Annie. I thought I'd never get…"

She cut across him abruptly, her tone cold. "Thought you'd never see me again? You gave up any right to care the minute you left with out so much as a goodbye. Just a note, scribble on the back of a fucking napkin."

He took another tentative step towards her. "I know, Annie. I'm sorry and…"

"Sorry? You left Mitchell." Even though her tone was still far from affectionate, hearing her say his name for the first time sparked some small hope in the vampire. "You left and then George left and I was left alone with nothing. I was nothing. No one could see me, hear me. For years. Do you have any idea what that's like?"

Annie let a stray tear escape and Mitchell watched, fascinated, as it rolled down her cheek, dripping of her chin and falling through the air, yet never hitting the ground.

"Annie…"

"No. Leave." There was a finality to her words that chilled him.

"Please."

"I said leave." She took a step forward and he stepped back, his back hitting the wall, aware of the energy that was flowing through the dead woman before him.

"Annie, I can't… I need…" His voice cracked and he was vaguely aware that he was crying. "I think you can help me, save me."

Annie looked at him, and, though her face didn't betray the fact, her hardened heart cracked slightly at the sight of one of the most important men in her life so beaten down by the world. Another tear, unbidden, slid down her cheek.

"Save you? In your note, the one you left when you…" She paused. "In your note, you said you thought Lucy was your salvation. Was she?"

He shook his head.

"Was Josie?"

Again, he shook his head.

"I can't save you Mitchell. No one can, no one but you."

She turned to walk away from him but his hand shot out, grabbing her arm pulling her towards him. "But maybe if we tried again, you could…"

"No!" She was shouting now. "You left! You left me!" And then her mask cracked. The sheer sorrow, the years of loneliness and solitude that Mitchell saw in her face broke his heart.

Too quickly for Annie to comprehend, Mitchell's arms were around her tightly, his face buried in the crook of her neck. She could feel his tears on her skin, and she stood perfectly still as he murmured into her hair.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Let me make it right, please. I need to make this right."

Annie could feel his hands clutching at her, as if, if he let her go, she would disappear. This wasn't beyond the realms of possibility. Slowly her arms came up to circle his shoulders. Mitchell let out a choked sound that Annie suspected was a sob when he registered her arms around him. She had meant what she said in the letters. She would always love him, but she didn't know if she could forgive him yet.

Several hours later, as the early morning light began to filter through the boards that covered the windows of the little pink house, a vampire and a ghost sat on the dusty floor, wrapped around each other. Eventually, Annie shifted slightly, trying to move out of Mitchell's grasp, but the arms around her tightened and she rolled her eyes before popping a few feet away. She looked down at the man who now sat at her feet and he frowned up at her.

"I think it's time for you to leave now."

He shot to his feet, panic straining at his features. "But…"

She held up a hand to pause him. "I'm not saying you can't come back, but you can't stay here. Not yet anyway."

The panic abated slightly, but Mitchell's chest still felt abnormally tight. "Why?"

Annie sighed and concentrated on a crack in the wall somewhere behind Mitchell's head. "You have to understand, when you met me, I was broken. You and George, you helped put me back together. And when you left," She struggled now, to admit her weakness to the man in front of her. "It broke me again Mitchell. I've been alone for forty nine years. Other ghosts come and go but in the end, I'm always alone. It's taken me years to put myself back together and I can't risk loosing myself again."

Mitchell nodded, his brows knitted together in thought. He stepped forward, putting his hands on her shoulders, staring into her deep brown eyes.

"I will fix this Annie. I'll fix us."

She couldn't help but smile at the determination in his voice. Putting her hands on either side of his face she rose up on her toes and kissed him softly, but there was no heat behind it.

"We'll see."

As Mitchell walked down the road, away from his former home, he could still feel the cold tingle on his lips. He smiled to himself, feeling a kind of hope that he hadn't felt in years.

* * *

The late August sun was hot on the back of his neck as John Mitchell walked down Windsor Terrace and stopped in front of the a pink house which had once been his home. He smiled as he looked at the front door and pulled a key out of his pocket.

"All right mate?"

He turned to find the same man who had spoken to him eight months ago, when he had first returned to Bristol, standing beside him.

"I'm great thanks. You?"

"Can't complain. The place looks great."

The two men admired the freshly painted exterior of the house and Mitchell grinned. "Thanks."

The other man turned. "Guess it's not haunted after all, ey? Be seeing you."

The vampire chuckled to himself as he stepped up to the front door and turned the key. As he entered, he threw his keys into a small glass dish on a table in the hallway and called out.

"I'm home."

Annie popped her head out of the kitchen. "Hiya. Tea?"

"Of course."

He followed the ghost into the kitchen and leaned against the counter as he watched her busy herself with mugs.

"Annie?"

"Hmm?"

"Is it even legal for a ghost to own a house?"

She paused and then shrugged and continued making the tea. "Don't know. Don't really care. Couldn't have someone knocking it down now, could I?"

"How'd you do it anyway?"

She handed him his mug and sat on the kitchen table swinging her leg back and forth. "I know people." She smiled at him impishly. "I move and shake."

He grinned at her. "Wattcha wanna do tonight then?"

Again, the ghost shrugged. "Whatever you want. It's only your second night home after all."

"Casablanca?"

The blinding smile that Annie shot his way made it impossible for Mitchell not to smile back. As they curled up on the couch together he knew that while he still had a lot of work to do, he was home.


End file.
